I am reminded of Thomas Gray's Elegy when I look at this photograph of Church Langton which I took many years ago and before the age of digital editing techniques:
The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,
The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,
The plowman homeward plods his weary way,
And leaves the world to darkness and to me.
Now fades the glimm'ring landscape on the sight,
And all the air a solemn stillness holds,
Save where the beetle wheels his droning flight,
And drowsy tinklings lull the distant folds;
Undoubtedly, one of the spookiest poems ever written. Was the writer a ghost in the churchyard?